


The Herald of the Morn

by Sereko



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sereko/pseuds/Sereko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens sooner than most expect, later than some would like. But, as with most things, it seems to happen exactly when it should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Herald of the Morn

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into writing Sterek fic (though I've been _reading_ Sterek fic for a long, long time now), posted as a gift for my dear friend [Gabby's](http://znks.tumblr.com/) birthday.

It happens sooner than most expect, later than some would like. But, as with most things, it seems to happen exactly when it should.

Stiles drives Derek home. They had a late night tiff with an omega that left everyone exhausted and punchy and Derek with too many wounds to heal. No one dares to caution him that he’s no longer an alpha with the added power and strength that that entails and that he should take it easy.

His eyes burn blue, but his heart still bleeds red.

Stiles watches them flare up as Derek fends off another wave of pain. His hand lifts automatically, but he covers his desire to comfort with an anxious stretching of fingers.

“You okay?”

Derek huffs affirmatively. It’s the cadence and the lack of effort that ensures Stiles he’s telling the truth. It’s a little bit strange how he’s unconsciously _learned_ Derek. He thinks of the end of “Speed” and how Sandy said relationships based on life-or-death situations never work. Except they haven’t been _out_ of life-or-death situations for two years straight and he doesn’t think that applies anymore.

The little moments in between Plan A and the hastily executed Plan D add up eventually. Saying hello and asking after one another’s health even when reddened bandages make that obvious and laughing too hard at bad jokes because you’ve been up for 48 hours and the adrenaline drop is making you delirious. Sharing breath in a stuffy car stale from the fries they didn’t finish two hours earlier in the stake out – comforted from the buffeted inhales that almost mean more than loud banter.

It all becomes an unintentional friendship after not too long a time.

When Stiles isn’t paying attention, it even becomes more than that. That _more_ in undefined and unspoken. It only makes itself known when neither of them are prepared to deal with it.

Like when they finally reach Stiles’ jeep.

“All right, big guy, time to get in and head home.”

Derek is flexing his arm and patting his stomach where the worst of his injuries were. There’s nothing there now but for the grizzly remains of his shirt.

“I think I’m good. I can walk home from here.”

“Don’t be stupid. You don’t live that far out of the way. Unless this is an ‘I’m a wolf and must run off my predatory instincts’ thing. In which case, be as stupid as you please.”

Derek raises an eyebrow.

“That came out wrong. You know what I mean.”

Derek cocks his head and Stiles refrains from telling him how much that makes him look like a dog. Dog jokes are still gold, but that one’s overused.

“It is one of those things,” Derek shrugs. He rolls his shoulders as if he can’t wait to shift out of his own skin.

“’Kay, well, I’ll be seeing ya then.” He tosses out a fist to bump at Derek’s good arm. He feels the reverberation all the way to his elbow – in that way that any form of minimal physical contact feels amplified when it’s with the person you may or may not have secret feelings for. He sucks in a breath which catches Derek’s attention just as he was about to turn away.

There’s a beat of awkward uncertainty. Derek moves back, then they do the reverse, until there is nervous laughter bubbling in the back of Stiles’ throat wanting to be released.

Derek stills.

And now Stiles feels that tension that seems to be more present with every passing day. It pulls like a string tethered to the very center of his being, more insistent with the recent fear of death still strumming through his veins.

He gets tunnel vision – eyes trailing across stubbled chin and flushed neck. He feels like a cliché, because without much effort the world falls away and his ears prick only with the sounds of rustled clothing and bitten lips.

Stiles goes in first. Derek’s just been standing there and he wants to give him time, give him permission, but he can’t… he just can’t wait anymore.

The first brush of lips is as hesitant as he can make it. The nervous energy that is always suffusing every movement of his body shakes his lips where they press into Derek’s. And he waits for it. Expects the pull back or the _push_ back. Knows this is too easy, too simple to be real.

Then again, in his experience, his hallucinations tend to be worse than real life – not better.

Derek inhales with the touch, but he pushes _in_. And then they’re up against the cold metal of the car, so Stiles reaches for warmth. His hand skitters up Derek’s arm, fingers curling around the folds in the leather. He grips at Derek’s elbows, pulls him in, and that’s when Derek reacts. He gasps backwards. Eyes wide. Lips trembling.

Stiles hangs there for half a second before realizing it was a mistake. Derek was caught up in the suddenness of the moment, he wasn’t actively kissing Stiles back.

“Oh god. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Stiles trips, stumbles away. He yanks open the door to the jeep. There’s a faint touch at his back and he spins around even while he’s shaking his head.

“Read that one totally wrong. Let’s just forget it ever happened, yeah? Yeah. Good.” He forces a smile and hops up into the driver’s seat.

Derek stops him from shutting the door, though.

“Stiles.” His voice is so much weaker than Stiles has ever heard it.

“No, hey, we’re good. Friends. Amigos. Comic relief to brooding action hero. This never happened. It is wiped from my memory banks.”

“Stiles.”

Ah, there’s the usual frustrated sigh.

But there’s also a not-at-all-usual hand snaking around his wrist and pulling him forward to the edge of the seat until his feet dangle over the side. It’s an effortless move that gets Stiles’ heart surging with a mix of instinctual fear and arousal.

“This isn’t–” He takes hold of at Stiles’ hips. Pets over cotton with his thumbs. “This is real.”

Stiles can’t help but laugh. Of course Derek would share his fears. He centers himself again, catches Derek’s neck between his palms.

“This is not a trick. We haven’t been cursed. We’re not in some witch’s acid trip – at least I don’t think we are. Even _if_ we are, I don’t fucking care–”

Derek cuts him off by lunging forward clacking teeth against teeth and practically sucking Stiles’ soul out through his mouth.

“Yes–” Stiles groans and delves his hands into the short hairs at the back of Derek’s head.

“I don’t want–” Stiles bites Derek’s lower lip. Just to taste. Also maybe to shut him up. “ _Fuck_.”

“You were saying?”

Derek doesn’t let him gloat for long. He pushes forward between Stiles’ thighs so Stiles can trap him in. The kiss deepens and slows at the same time. Stiles’ heartbeat is rapid fire and he curses it when Derek rips himself back to take a deep gulp of air.

“No no no no–” he whines, hooking his ankles behind Derek’s back so he can’t escape. “Come back.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

When Stiles lets his panic subside, he realizes the truth in that. Derek isn’t fleeing, isn’t fighting to get away. His hands have settled hotly on top of Stiles’ thighs and he’s rolled their foreheads together.

“I don’t want–” he starts to say again.

Stiles – not childishly at all – slaps a hand over his mouth so he can’t finish.

“Not don’t wants. No don’t wants here. This is a magical rift in the universe where only wants and must haves exist. This is Stiles’ happy fun time place.”

He only removes his hand because he can feel Derek chuckling and that’s a precious rarity that shouldn’t be stifled.

“I don’t want to wake up,” Derek finally gets out. His voice softer than Stiles has ever heard it.  

It’s a funny thing – how when something finally happens that’s been building for so long it’s impossible to wrap one’s head around it. There needs to be a certain amount of time and space for processing before it can all truly sink in. The objective side of Stiles acknowledges this and understands he’s still caught up in his own disbelief. Maybe because it’s not weird? It’s not awkward? He thought there might be some embarrassment – on his part for sure – or at least mixed signals or rejection.

There isn’t any of that, though. Just the promise of more.

“I can’t swear this isn’t a dream. A very good one that I hope to revisit in the shower later. But I’m at least 95% sure it’s not. So, if you’d like to come back to my place and wait it out and see if we’re still where we are in the morning, I’m game.”

Derek agrees and they do just that. They shuffle into the car, make their way back to the Stilinski house, walk side by side staring at each other the entire way and sit on the couch. The Sheriff doesn’t ask when he gets home at 3am after the late shift, just throws the spare blanket at them before climbing the stairs. And Stiles and Derek remain on either end of the couch, never losing eye contact, blinking slower and slower as they try to resist sleep.

“You’re still here,” Stiles whispers when the light of the morning sun slants across them. Derek reaches out across the back of the couch to link their hands.

“So are you.”


End file.
